Wednesday, 29 December 2010


Spotting blood spatters on the snow,
I thought of you.

Looked up and saw you
hunched in the
branches, clutching carrion.
Licking your lips.
Watching me.

Judging me a tad too green.

I heard you had n apetite. Surely you have room for one more carcass?
I'm hoping to die soon.

50-word-story, photo/art/text own.

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